Love In A Broken Vessel (29 page)

“I see only relief on your face, and it troubles me. There’s no sorrow for sin, no compassion for others, not even a glimmer of fear or curiosity to learn more about the changing world around you.” Yuval’s appraisal stripped Gomer’s heart bare.

“You didn’t give me a chance to respond.” It was a pathetic answer, and Yuval’s silent challenge stirred her defenses. “What do you want me to say? Should I wail and moan because Assyria might someday attack Jerusalem? Why is it so terrible to be relieved that Hananiah didn’t abandon me?”

“It is your definition of
abandoned
that breaks my heart, little Gomer.”

Yuval reached for her walking stick and pushed herself to her feet, and Gomer’s heart plummeted. Her friend had finally given up on her. But to her shock and relief, the old woman pressed the stick into the dirt floor and drew a circle around herself.

When she finished, she looked up, a tender smile on her face. “I’m going to teach you what abandoned
doesn’t
mean,
Daughter. You have drawn a circle around yourself—a very small circle. As long as everyone stays in your little circle, you believe they are with you. However, if someone steps outside of it, even for a moment, you feel abandoned and label that one a betrayer.”

“I do not!” Gomer’s indignation waned as the truth nibbled the edges of her heart.

Yuval raised a single eyebrow, silently awaiting permission to continue.

“You can keep going—since you’ve already scarred my floor with your drawing.”

The old woman tried to hide a wry smile. “Remember what I said before about the danger of becoming too focused on your own little circle—to the exclusion of the world around you. That great big world, where prophets and kings and nations are making all those decisions, can swallow you without warning. Those whom you accuse of abandoning you have stepped into a bigger circle—a circle you’ve chosen to ignore. Hosea has not abandoned you. Yahweh has not abandoned you. They are working in the wider world around you.”

Gomer blinked and nodded. All this talk of circles was confusing. What had happened to her no-nonsense, practical, fig-picking friend? The world would continue on its course with or without Gomer’s intervention or concern. In the meantime, she would hold tightly to the one thing that had given her hope since Ammi’s birth. Hananiah hadn’t left of his own choice. He’d been ordered to leave Tekoa. And now he was in . . .

Jerusalem.

I’m going to Jerusalem tomorrow!

• H
OSEA
8:14 •

The people of Israel have built palaces, and they have forgotten their maker. The people of Judah have built many fortified cities. [Yahweh] will send a fire on their cities and burn down their palaces.

H
osea and Gomer stood atop the hillside across the Kidron Valley. “Look,” he said, pointing at Yahweh’s temple. “It’s like a gleaming jewel, and the city walls are like a crown.”

Gomer smiled in response—really smiled—with a grin that reached her eyes.

He turned and hurried down the hill. His wife would no doubt keep the pace, maintaining the renewed vigor she’d shown since early this morning. She’d awakened before dawn, rattling around in the main room, packing for their journey. He hadn’t seen her this happy since before Jezzy was born. Her days of uncleanness and seclusion had been difficult. She needed activity and people like olive trees needed sun, soil, and rain, and this trip to Jerusalem seemed to blow a fresh breeze of life into her.

Hosea looked up, shaded his eyes, and measured the sun’s position. “It’s past midday. We’ve made good time.”

He glanced behind him and saw that Gomer was following closely but didn’t answer. She’d seemed lighthearted throughout their journey—though not especially talkative. The joy of the olive harvest anointed their travel, and each time they rested for little Ammi to nurse, Gomer chatted with a local farmer and invariably convinced him to shake an olive tree. She would then dance in circles, palms upturned, catching the falling fruit like raindrops. The farmers were so entertained, they made a gift of the olives Gomer captured. Hosea chuckled at the memory and stopped to catch his breath.

“What are you laughing about?” Gomer caught up and issued an annoyed glance.

He produced a few olives from his pocket as a peace offering. “I was wondering how you could still be so enamored with olive tree shaking after living on Amos’s farm for three years.”

Her brow furrowed, and Hosea feared he would catch her all-too-familiar wrath, but a wry smile tugged at a corner of her lips instead. “It’s the only time I can dance without drawing scorn.”

The revelation stole Hosea’s breath—and broke his heart. She’d undoubtedly intended the remark as humorous, but it revealed a yearning for her old life. Had she wished she could dance this morning when they’d passed Amos’s hired hands shaking the camp’s olive trees?
My wife will never be free to dance and catch olives in the prophets’ camp.
In Tekoa, Gomer would always be Hosea’s wife, the harlot.

“Come on. We’ll need to hurry home after your purification to help press the olives.” He resumed his downhill march, unwilling to dwell on the realities of their future when today was about the joy of Ammi’s life. “Amos said some of the shepherds weren’t able to help with the olive processing this year because the drought was sending them deeper into the wilderness for water.” He planted his toes into the
dusty ground, steadying his descent toward the Kidron Valley. “Let’s cut across here. We’ll take a shortcut to the northern entrance of the city.”

“Hosea, slow down! I’m afraid I’ll fall.”

He looked back and watched his petite wife picking her way down the steep grade, cradling the precious bundle in the sling wrapped over her shoulder and around her waist. Her eyes were intent on the rocky terrain, and a deep scowl etched her brow.
What am I thinking?
Gomer wasn’t an experienced traveler like Micah—or even Jonah. He’d let his mind wander instead of tending to his wife.

He charged back up the hill. “Here, let me help you.” Before she could protest, he circled her waist, practically lifting her off her feet.

“Hosea, be careful! I’m unsteady with Ammi in this sling!” Her feet slipped as she said the words, and he swept her into his arms, baby and all. A little giggle escaped her—the first he’d heard in many moon cycles. She cradled Ammi in the sling with one arm, clinging to Hosea’s neck with the other.

“I won’t let you fall, Gomer.” He nuzzled her neck. “Don’t let go, and I promise—I won’t let you fall.”

Her smile died. The amiable moment faded, and a flash of despair appeared before she hid her face in his chest. “Who will choose the lamb for my offering?”

His heart ached each time she refused his tender emotions. Yuval said Gomer was always more volatile after childbirth, but Hosea had sensed a stronger storm brewing during her uncleanness. Today had been better, but he would honor her current attempt at avoidance. “Since it’s after midday, the temple supply of lambs may be picked over, but we’ll talk with the high priest. Perhaps he’ll do us the honor of choosing our lamb.”

He walked the rest of the way in silence, the feel of her in his arms enough to satisfy him for now. He would need to confront her moods if she didn’t change soon, however. Her indifference toward him was tolerable; her impatience with Jezzy and Rahmy was not.

Gasping, Gomer pointed to something on Jerusalem’s northern tower. “Hosea, look!”

He stopped on the main road into the city, other travelers flowing around him. Some sort of large contraption perched atop each tower on every corner of Jerusalem’s wall. “I’ve never seen anything like those, Gomer. They look like some type of war machines.”

“You can put me down now.” She ignored Hosea’s observation, wriggled out of his arms, and started walking toward the gate.

“Gomer, wait!” She looked startled, then annoyed, when he straightened her blue linen veil to cover her hair properly before they entered the city. The veil’s edges were fraying, and it showed a few small tears. “Perhaps we should visit the market while we’re here and buy you a new veil.”

She averted her gaze and rejoined the bustling crowd. “Perhaps.”

Hosea rushed to her, careful not to become separated by the sea of people entering Jerusalem’s Sheep Gate.

Because they arrived at the rear of Yahweh’s temple, Hosea didn’t notice its shoddy appearance until they rounded its southwest corner. The great pillars, Jakin and Boaz, looked soiled, the lily and pomegranate ornamentation caked with dirt. He reached for Gomer’s hand, pulled her from the rushing crowd, and stepped toward the animal corrals. One lamb awaited purchase, and the pen was in desperate need of repair.

“I hope
that
one is without blemish.” Gomer’s tone dripped with sarcasm, but anger sparked in Hosea’s heart.

“There isn’t even a priest here to take our silver for the offering,” he said to no one in particular. Incredulous, he issued another general plea. “How can Yahweh’s people worship without a priest to make the sacrifice?”

His anger now burning like a red-hot flame, Hosea turned in a full circle, seeing no one but travelers hurrying away from the temple. None in this city seemed concerned about their God. The wind blew through the empty temple court.

“Where have the faithful gone?” he screamed, stopping every passerby where they stood. “How can Yahweh’s temple stand empty when the high places in Judah are swarming with worshipers?”

“Hosea, please.” Gomer placed a quieting hand on his arm. “People are staring.”

“Staring?” He gaped at her, breathless. Could she really have no grasp of what consumed his heart, his life? Did she think that
staring
was the worst persecution he had faced while they’d been separated all this time? He drew breath to begin his deriding but was stopped by a familiar voice.

“Hosea, I’m sure this is a shock to you.” The high priest stood before him, worn, weary. “If you’ll follow me to the palace, we can talk on the way. I’ll try to explain what’s happened in Judah while you’ve been prophesying in Israel.” The sadness in the priest’s countenance tempered Hosea’s anger, and Gomer issued a silent nudge. “Please, Hosea,” the high priest begged. “Please listen.”

Hosea’s heart thundered in his chest.
Yahweh, give me wisdom.
He refused to be cowed by Gomer’s embarrassment or the high priest’s shame, but if Yahweh wished him to prophesy at the palace, this could be the way He was providing entry. “All right. We’ll go to the palace, but I’ve brought my wife for her purification ceremony. Our son—the baby is thirty-three days old, and we’ve come to fulfill the Law.”

He winced at his verbal pause. Ammi wasn’t his son, but Yahweh was giving him a love for the boy similar to his love that had grown for little Rahmy. He glanced over his shoulder at Gomer. She had fallen in step behind them, her head bowed, whispering to Ammi. She momentarily glanced at Hosea but seemed more interested in the city sights.

Gomer could barely contain her delight. The gods must be smiling on her today. Her greatest obstacle to finding Hananiah—getting into the palace—had been overcome without
a word on her part. “You’re going to meet your abba,” she whispered to Ammi.

They hurried through Jerusalem’s streets, Gomer feigning indifference with every sidelong glance. In truth, she was studying every landmark, having realized she’d need to maneuver the city after she escaped from Hosea. She’d made her decision on their journey this morning—when she danced. Tekoa was behind her. Forever. Isaiah and Aya would love her children as their own, adding them to their growing family. She and Hananiah could begin their lives here in Jerusalem with Ammi.

She etched into her mind every street and building, combining what she saw with reports she’d heard from traveling merchants. They said every city was alike: the outer wall followed the shape of the central street’s contour, wealthy homes perched on the highest elevations since refuse of every kind flowed downhill, and wells or natural springs lay at the center of town. She’d heard Jerusalem was unique because the Gihon spring was positioned southwest of the city, near the Water Gate.

But Jerusalem was unique in many ways.

Legends abounded of underground tunnels stretching to Jericho, heavenly beings hovering over the temple site, and a dozen more stories she believed less as she lived more. However, to be safe, she would purchase another Asherah with the silver she’d saved from her harlotry. Thank the gods she’d decided to bring it. She hadn’t been certain she’d leave Hosea today—until she danced, until she felt free again.

Not far from the temple, they arrived at a wide set of marble steps. Exquisite white pillars lined an outer portico, each pillar intricately engraved with pomegranates, grapes, and palms. She’d heard of Solomon’s architecture. The seven years spent building Yahweh’s temple were surpassed in time and splendor by the thirteen-year project of his personal palace.

Her worn leather sandals slapped the mosaic entry, but the sound was swallowed up when the doors of the crowded Cedar Hall were opened.

Hananiah. He stood behind King Jotham, eyes scanning the room.

She gasped, and Hosea gathered her into a protective embrace, steering her through the crowd in front of them. “Quite different than King Jeroboam’s ivory palace, isn’t it?” He had to lean down and shout to be heard. King Jotham was between rulings. She held Ammi tightly to her chest as wall-to-wall people pressed for position.

The high priest led Hosea and Gomer forward, blocking her view of the king—and his commander—while the steward announced the next case. “Ezra, son of Benyamin, brings charges against Berechiah, his neighbor.”

Gomer recognized the palace official Maaseiah from Uzziah’s rented house. He now stood on King Jotham’s right hand, and the chief scribe, Jeiel, scribbled furiously as a line of other scribes alternately rested and wrote according to their system of record keeping. Hananiah looked over the crowd.
He must not have seen me yet
, Gomer thought.

Jotham struck his scepter on the floor, creating a loud
pop.
“Your neighbor will pay restitution for the animal. The Law of Moses is clear on the matter.”

Jotham sounded so regal. Gomer smiled, feeling a sense of pride on Uzziah’s behalf—then sadness that he’d never see his son reigning so capably.

The crowd resumed its nondescript roar, and Gomer kept her eyes focused on the commander. Still no recognition.

“Hosea, my friend! And Gomer! I see you have a new little one.” The king’s greeting hushed the hall instantly, and Gomer felt like a prize on display.

Hosea cradled her elbow, and she felt his hand tremble. Was it anger or nerves that made her husband quake?

“King Jotham, we thank you for the welcome.” He bowed, and Gomer did likewise. “We came to offer the sacrifice for Gomer’s purification, but we couldn’t bear the condition of Yahweh’s temple.”

We? Did he say “we”?
With all her heart, Gomer wished
to run and hide. Anything to spare her the embarrassment of what she knew he was about to say. She glanced at Hananiah again, but his eyes seemed to burn a hole through Hosea.

“We saw many fortifications as we approached Jerusalem today. Your abba built towers on the corners of Jerusalem’s wall, and we noticed your addition of some type of war machines.”

Hananiah whispered something to the king. Jotham nodded, and Hananiah’s bass voice resounded in the silent courtroom. “Those ‘war machines,’ as you call them, can shoot a cluster of arrows in a single motion and hurl large stones at an army pummeling our wall. King Jotham graciously gave me leave to share these details—though make no mistake, Judah’s war strategy is no concern of an Israelite prophet.”